


Lord's Lost Love

by weepingnaiad



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Bucky Barnes Family, F/F, F/M, Gen, Getting Back Together, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, fluff dressed in period clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-21 08:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: Clint runs away when he's fourteen, taking half of James' soul that night.  James' father tells him that he's too young to know "real" love.  His mother tells him he's young enough to still find the "right" one.  But James knows he loves Clint with all his heart.  When Clint never sends word, James believes the feelings to be one-sided.But Clint's return years later proves Jamesandhis parents wrong.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 103
Collections: Marvel Big Bang 2019, Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Art Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297053) by [pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt)
> 
> This is not the story that I started with and pherryt has had the good humor to deal with my fickle muses. She created the most gorgeous art for this, please go to her masterpost and give her all the love and kudos.
> 
> Again, I have to thank [hitlikehammers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers) for her support and encouragement and blindingly fast beta on this, since I tossed it at her at the very last minute. What would I do without you, m'dear?

When Steve's final fitting and Rebecca's penultimate fitting ended up in tears and the seamstress glaring at James as she stormed out of the manor house, James had had quite enough of the madhouse that the Barnes Estate had become. Rachel glanced up from her studies and shrugged at him as he passed. She was lucky to still have studies he thought with a grimace.

"I am going riding," he called out as he passed the parlor. He didn't wait for an answer as he could hear Rebecca's tears and their mother's anger through the slightly open door. He'd leave mediating between them to his father. After all, George had agreed to this entire debacle. Well, agreed, is too generous of a word. He'd been set upon by both Rebecca and Winnifred and stood no chance against them. James was just grateful that they hadn't required him to support this ridiculous scheme.

What madwoman agreed to host not one, but _two_ weddings during the height of the summer season with only two weeks separating the ceremonies? Why had his mother not only agreed to it, but had leapt at the chance as if her life depended on it? If Rebecca was so insistent that she _must_ be wed on the anniversary of the day Walter proposed, then she could have bloody well waited for another year! Stevie had requested the summer wedding months before Becca had set her date. And _his_ request at least made some sort of sense since Samuel would be on leave at the time.

James rubbed his temples as he strode to the stables. Ned must have heard something because he was already saddling up Beauty.

"Thank you, Ned."

"Not a problem, sir," the steadfast stablehand said. "I got an earful from Missus Greavy. She was madder than a wet hen, she was."

James pursed his lips to bite back a chuckle. "That she was, Ned. That she was."

"It's not my business, but everyone's a bit short lately."

James mounted and grinned down at Ned. "Just stay in the stables and you'll be safe enough."

"Aye!" Ned called with a wink and a salute before turning back to currying Rhubarb, Rebecca's horse.

James gave Beauty her head and let her set their pace, jacket and braid flying behind him as she fair flew over the countryside until they entered the low scrubby hills. She slowed her pace and began to climb the trail and James let her take the lead. She knew what he needed even better than he did. When they reached the top of the ridge, James hobbled Beauty, leaving her free to snack on the tender grasses and underbrush.

Then James scrambled up the final ascent, over rough terrain, ducking tree limbs, and clambering over rocks and large tumbledown stones. As he reached the edge of the ridge he sat down in the hollow of a large boulder, his back to the sun warmed stone, eyes drifting across the river valley and the old Barton estate, he allowed himself a melancholy sigh. While he was over the moon for Stevie and even pleased for his twin, watching their happiness from the sidelines stung. Samuel was a good man and was so in love with Steve it almost hurt to see, but gave James great fodder for taunting the upright Lieutenant. And Walter was well-heeled enough to keep Becca in all the latest fashion while being just as strong willed as his sister. They made quite the couple and would invariably take London by storm. James didn't envy anyone who got in their way. But he craved what might have been for himself.

~~*~~

James settled into his perch, face tipped into the sun instead of staring down into the valley at the grounds and house of the Barton lands. Even if he made the effort to avoid staring, he kept stealing glances, cataloguing the repaired roof on the manor house as well as renovations and more activity than the place has seen since he could remember.

He really needed a new place to escape to. This one had far too many memories attached to it.

James heard someone approaching and swore under his breath.

"Are you up here?"

The voice wasn't Stevie's, thank all that was holy. It was Samuel, which could only be worse. James groaned and refused to answer.

The huffing and cursing neared and then passed on up the ridgeline. James had to fight back a grin. Served him right.

"Barnes?" Samuel called, voice very close. Close enough that James knew when to give in. Samuel must have doubled back.

"I am here," he called out.

Samuel rounded the large stone, sweat glistening off his forehead as he put his hands on his hips and glared. "Really? You could not have said something sooner?"

"I would not have come up here if I wanted company."

"I am not _company,_ Barnes. I am a messenger," Samuel said, then proceeded to join James in the large hollow.

"Comfortable?"

"A bit."

James sighed then glanced away. He would not be goaded into a conversation.

"Everyone is fine. Stevie insisted that he come, but I thought it better if he did not ascend this terrain."

That made James meet Samuel's eyes. "He listened to you?"

Samuel snorted. "Hardly, but Lady Barnes is quite adept at distracting him."

Shaking his head, James had to give Samuel credit. No one could ever dissuade Stevie from something once he was fixated. It was impressive that Samuel had already mastered the skill.

When Samuel did not elaborate, James let the silence linger. He had no idea what was so urgent that Steve would risk the trek up the hillside to him. As the quiet stretched and Samuel showed no further inclination to speak, James' curiosity got the better of him.

"What message was of such import that you came up here, Samuel?" James asked, voice dry as the North African desert.

Samuel gave James a wide grin before turning his gaze back to the vista spread before them. "The elder Lady Barton has passed."

"And why would I need to know such a thing?" James kept his voice carefully neutral. Samuel did not need to know his feelings on Lady Beatrice Barton. The damage she'd done to James was long in the past.

Shrugging, Samuel replied, "I have no idea, but Steve felt it necessary for you to know. And, according to Missus Taylor, Lady Laura is with child."

If James did not know better, he'd think that Samuel was dragging this out to torment him. Stevie was a lot of things, but a gossip he was not. And he'd never tell tales, especially _this_ one.

"Again, I ask you, why do I care? I am sure Lord Barton is more than capable of dealing with his spouse's condition."

"Steve told me nothing, except to pass the news," Samuel said. "He wanted to come himself, but the florist's timely arrival saved me an argument with him. He only shared these few things. And told me it was urgent that you know of them."

"I thank you for coming all this way for nothing, then."

Samuel turned sharp eyes on James. "Deflect and deny if you will, but it was not for nothing."

James refused to fidget under that gaze and just stared as serenely as he could when his stomach gave an uncertain lurch.

"Larkin Miller returned to town with news of a traveling caravan over by Hade Edge as well," Samuel added, gaze firmly fixed on the side of James' face. "I believe he said it was the Romanoffs' circus and their route was likely headed our way."

James could hear nothing else over the rush of blood in his veins. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and sagged against the rock at his back. "You are certain?" he finally asked, voice little better than a croak.

"Aye," Samuel nodded. "And that, more than the others is why Steve wanted to come himself."

James could find no words, far too many of them were jumbled up in his throat.

"I can go, or stay, if you have need?" Samuel spoke, the offer quiet and sincere. "I am told I am a good listener and I have no association with whatever upheaval this news has caused you."

James shook his head and gave a wet chuckle. "You have no idea what you have offered."

The hand that Samuel pressed to James' shoulder was warm and firm, a strong pressure keeping him from flying off the cliff on the wings of memory.

"I suppose it would not hurt to tell you all of it. You are soon to be family and the tales will out," he said. "They always do."

"I would not pry," Samuel said, palm falling away.

"The entire town of Harrogate knows of it," he said. "Better to hear it from me than whatever tall tale gossip has made it."

"Very well," Samuel said, settling more fully next to James. "But know that you do not owe me anything."

James turned and met Samuel's warm, brown eyes. "I owe you much. You are one of the few who has seen Stevie for more than a scrawny, sickly orphan."

"He is not--"

"Shhhhh, be well. We both know his heart and will is almost too large for his frame. And you saw _him_ from the first and have never let his temper or cussedness change how you treat him," James said, fond smile growing. "I feared that Stevie would settle for the first that would have him, that someone like Brock or Pierce--"

Those names made Samuel growl.

"That he'd accept their offer because of his pride, because he hates living off my family, and then you came along and swept him off his feet."

"'Twas the other way 'round, James," Samuel said, eyes full of affection. "'Twas _he_ that turned my head and stole my heart."

"Sap," James snorted. "Damned if I know how you manage Stevie's temper, but I am happy for you and grateful that is no longer my job. And for that alone, I would share this tale."

"Very well then," Samuel said, waving at James to continue.

"Lord Charles -- Barney, was not an only son. He had a younger brother. Clinton."

Samuel nodded.

"Lady Beatrice was left to raise the boys when their father died in a carriage accident."

"Really?"

James shook his head. "No, but that is the story they tell," he said. "Lord Harold squandered most of the Barton fortune. He gambled and bet on one risky endeavor after another, anything to make money without working for it. He paid wenches for their company and spent most nights in the halls drinking. He was a wastrel after Lady Edith passed until the Barton fortune was barely more than the estate itself."

James paused, shaking his head at the memory of Clint telling him they were dead broke and that he would need to quit his schooling and take up a trade.

"His carriage did go over an embankment and into the river, but it was no accident. Lord Harold was many things, but even drunk as a skunk he was a skilled horseman and driver. He taught his boys to ride and there were few who could match them."

"He took his own life?"

"Aye, or someone done him in," James said without a trace of sadness.

"I take it this is where the traveling caravan comes in?" Samuel prodded when James got lost in memories.

"Nearly," James nodded. "Money was hard to come by, especially when the debtors kept showing up on the Barton doorstep," he explained. "But Lady Beatrice was not about to lose her birthright, no matter the cost."

Stomach clenching, James continued. "Barney was off to London at university and, being the eldest, had a 'position' to maintain, so that left it to Clint." He hesitated, then sighed. "Clinton was barely fourteen the day his father died and two months later, his grandmother had arranged for him to be wed."

"At fourteen?" Samuel was shocked. That was far too young in polite society. Even for a family with many daughters, no one of good standing married them off before they were of age.

"I should amend," James corrected. "It was agreed that he would wed Lord Coulson's son when he turned sixteen."

"Wait, isn't that _Captain_ Coulson?"

James looked at Samuel and gave him a slow nod. "I believe so, but I am not well acquainted with the Coulsons," he said. "They have a large estate near Marsden and we do not generally run in the same social circles."

Samuel cocked his head and frowned at James. "But your family is quite well off, surely Lady Barton could have made other arrangements?"

James snorted. "We are _Catholics,_ Samuel."

Eyes widening, he shook his head. "What utter rot!" He fumed. "Small minded, provincial--"

The chuckle James interrupted Samuel's rant with was only slightly bitter. "Aye, you are not wrong, but we were never the 'proper sort' in the old biddy's eyes." His lips twisted into a sharp smirk. "It serves her right that she not only lost the money the match provided, but also lost the only grandson that gave a fig about her wellbeing."

"What do you mean?"

"When Barney, uh Lord Charles, got wind of what she'd done, he nearly disowned her," James explained.

"Could he do that?"

"Barney has a temper and whilst he was not always the best brother, he tried to do right by Clinton," James said, sighing softly. "He sent a few of us after the caravan to get him back, but it was as though they were a figment of our imaginations and never existed." He could still remember riding until his legs were numb. "We never caught up to them, not a one of us that went looking."

"Huh," Samuel mused. "And yet, the Barton estate is intact and Lady Beatrice lived there until she passed."

"Barney married into a London aristocrat's family and Laura's dowery more than settled the debts with plenty left over," James said. "And Laura is a spitfire." He grinned then, the first genuine smile he'd felt since relating the story. "She is more than a match for _both_ Barney and Beatrice. 'Twas she that decided that Beatrice could stay and since Barney loves his wife dearly he would never gainsay her."

"It stills seems an unjust ending for the younger son," Samuel opined.

"I always assumed so, but now I no longer am so assured."

"And why would that be?" Samuel asked. "He fled his home and left family for--"

"And friends," James interfected.

"And friends," Samuel agreed. "It seems an altogether tragic ending."

"But it has been _eight_ years," James said, voice going hard despite his wishes. "Lady Beatrice's influence was removed over five years ago. If Clinton had it as bad as all that, he could well have returned at any time after that."

"I see your point, but I suspect that a young runaway has fewer options than you imagine."

"Do not defend him," James said, growing heated. "He _left_ without so much as a by your leave. And none have heard from him since!"

"Forgive me," Samuel said, all contrite and James felt horribly guilty for lashing out at him. "I did not mean to overstep, I was merely thinking of some of those that I have seen when I was abroad."

The palm Samuel placed on James' forearm was warm, reminding him that none of this should matter in the least. It was ancient history and James had prospects if he chose to entertain the notion of marriage. His gut still twisted into knots and he clenched his jaw to keep his ire bottled up.

"You should return to Steve," James said instead of answering. "The cost of the wedding goes up a dollar for every minute he spends with my sister."

"Aye," Samuel said, clapping James on the shoulder. "Your sister can be a menace," he agreed. "Do not be long, they will hold dinner until you return and I am already quite eager for Missus Dunweady's meat pies."

James didn't look up as Samuel stood, but his anger was less heated. "I will not linger," he promised.

"That's all I ask," Samuel said, then climbed the boulder and left James to his memories.

~~*~~

Despite the melancholy that persisted after baring his soul to Samuel, the next fortnight passed in a blur mostly due to Steve and Rebecca. They kept his head spinning as he did his damnedest to keep his mother, sister, and Stevie from losing _their_ minds. When he wasn't running into town for something forgotten or racing to the florist in gods be damned Osmotherly -- because the local one in Harrogate just would not do -- or conferring with the groundsman he was invariably torn between soothing Rebecca's flurry of nerves and Stevie's cold feet. Or caught between Stevie's nerves and Becca's cold feet. Whoever was having the worst meltdown.

Then Walter was called back to London for some critical business sending Rebecca into a shouting, crying, shaking fit. Secretly James did not blame Walter in the least. Rebecca was always brash and outspoken, the bright center of attention in their small world; arranging two weddings so very close together only further cementing her place in the limelight. Compounding all of that was the fact that Harrogate was still far from London with its nearly constant parties and social gatherings, so Rebecca's nuptials were _the_ event of the season for the surrounding countryside. The anxiety and pressure brought out her cussedness and the Barnes' intractability they'd all inherited from their grandfather. And more than once James had to intervene to keep Rebecca's temper at bay, saving Walter from saying something they would both soon regret. So he fled, using work as an excuse. And James sped him on his way, praying that he could distract Rebecca into a better humor soon enough.

It proved surprisingly easy to cajole Rebecca into a good mood once again. All James had to do was agree to go shopping with her and Stevie. James groaned, but acquiesced. After all, Samuel was away as well and with Stevie wearing a long face, James had no choice.

Consequently, he found himself out early morn on Saturday riding Beauty alongside Rebecca and Steve's cabriolet. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and he often gave Beauty her head, allowing her to canter on ahead of the cart before slowing and turning to greet them at the crossroads. Becca gave him a pleased smile and Steve just shook his head and laughed. "You are feeling your oats this mornin', Buck," he said.

"Aye! And why not?" he exclaimed, sitting high in the saddle arms stretched wide. "'Tis a glorious morn for riding!"

"And we shall soon be shopping!" Becca teased. "What could be better?"

James rolled his eyes and bit back a snort. "I know of many things better, but few to be discussed in polite company."

Steve nearly choked and Rebecca gave an outraged huff. "You!" she pointed at James, "are a menace! I do think you should accept Loki's offer of a match to keep you from trouble!"

James shook his head. "Nay," he said, Beauty once again cantoring smoothly beside Rhubarb. "That one is more trouble than any of us need. I care not for the attractive wrapping nor the riches he offers. I watch you two and know that it is not for me. So I'll not take anyone, not even if Sir Anthony Stark himself were to offer!"

Rebecca shook her head and flicked the whip at Rhubarb, lightly touching her flank to prod her forward. "We shall see, dear brother. I think it is just a matter of time and place. Once you meet that someone, you will be eager for a match, no matter the wrappings."

The little cabriolet shot forward, neatly taking the turn at the crossroads; away from Harrogate and beelining it for Osmotherly. "Hey!" James called out, kneeing Beauty to give chase. "I thought we were going into town?"

Rebecca's laugh floated on the air as she urged Rhubarb even faster. 

"You are a scheming wench!" he shouted, but he was laughing as he caught up and passed them, only turning once he crossed the bridge into town. He whooped and stood in the stirrups, fist raised, smile wide as he reined in Beauty to give her a rest.

The little buggy was going at speed and only Rhubarb's strength and Rebecca's deft hand kept it from tumping as she hit the uneven edges on the town's side of the bridge. Steve was white as a sheet with both hands gripping tight to the seat and frame. "You two are going to be the death of me!"

"I win," James said, chin high.

"You best have," she glared at him. "Poor Rhubarb here was carrying more than three times as much weight!"

"And you chose to challenge me, what could I do but accept?" James rode abreast Rhubarb and patted the stallion's neck. He was breathing heavily, but not nearly in a lather. "Let us get them to fresh water and then you can explain why we came here."

~~*~~

After settling the horses in the stables and paying for them to be properly groomed, Rebecca grabbed each man by their arms and walked them to the pub for a light lunch and an ale to wet their parched throats. She chattered nonstop about the latest fashion in London and how much she was looking forward to moving there. Underneath the constant flow of words, James could see her trepidation. After all, here she was more often than not the talk of the town. In London she'd just be another lady of means amongst so many of the same and others who were so far above her in status.

"Are you certain that this is what you want?" James asked. "You could easily stay here and become a spinster nanny."

Rebecca pinched his arm.

"Ow! What? I merely floated the notion, you shall do as you wish." He rubbed his arm where she likely left a large bruise.

"I love Walter," she stated.

"Aye, but London is a long way from home."

Steve had kept his silence, but he finally piped up. "London is not so far," he said. "And I will be grateful for your company."

"Stevie?" James asked.

He shrugged. "I would follow Samuel to hell and back if he needed it, but I am not too proud to admit that I am nervous."

Rebecca pressed a hand to his forearm. "About what?"

"London is _huge._ I am little more than a country artist who barely knows the different schools of art!" He lifted his cup and took a swallow.

"Oh, you!" Rebecca scoffed, but hugged him tightly. "You are one of the most talented artists anywhere! And that American--"

"Ambassador Pierce is not just _any_ American, Becca," James chided.

"Fine," she huffed. "_Ambassador_ Pierce asked for you specifically, did he not?"

"Aye," Steve conceded. 

"Well, he had to have gotten a recommendation from someone of substance, so how can you disparage your skill?"

Steve glanced to James for some support, but James agreed with Rebecca. Steve would take London's art world by storm and it would likely end up being Samual who followed Stevie around. James just winked at Steve and took another drink.

"Any help here?" Steve asked.

"Nay," James replied. "She is right and you know it. I shall not further massage your ego by stating it aloud."

"Ass," Steve said.

"Aye!" James grinned and lifted his glass in a mock toast.

"Well now that we are all in agreement, pay the proprietor, we have shopping to attend to!" Rebecca ordered.

James did as told, but not before draining the last of his drink. He suspected he was going to need far more than the one to get through this day.

~~*~~

And Rebecca did not go easy on him, after hours of dress, shoe, and hat fittings, James had a pile of boxes to pay for and arrange for their delivery while Rebecca was trying on even more clothes. This time she was in a store he avoided at all costs: undergarments. And Stevie was standing in the shade laughing at James' red face.

"Stop! Or I shall convince Becca that you are in need of a trousseau yourself!" James threatened.

Steve's mouth slammed shut and he glared at James.

"I would and to buy my silence, you have to wait while I go get some of those berries I saw at the market earlier."

Steve nodded eagerly and wisely kept his mouth closed tight.

James snorted and walked away. He had no idea how merely waiting could be such thirsty work.

The market was filled to the brim with fresh fruit, but blackberries were his favorite and there was only one pint of the dark fruit left. As James reached for it another hand snatched them away. "Hey! I wanted those!" he cried out.

But when he turned, ready to argue his case, his tongue refused to comply because standing there, in the flesh, was Clinton Francis Barton. And James just gaped like a fish out of water.

"Well, if it ain't James Buchanan Barnes himself," Clint said, eyes sparkling, mouth quirked in a wry grin. "I heard tell you still lived in Harrogate."

James recovered swiftly at that. "Of course I still live here! My family and friends are here! I would never skulk off in the middle of the night without a bye your leave unlike _some_ people!" He hissed, then grabbed the pint of berries for good measure. "Charge these to our account, Mister Mason!"

"What?" Clint looked hurt, then shocked, then angry and James did not give one whit of care.

"You heard me," he said, venom in every syllable. "Good day and good _bye!_"

Telling Clint off wasn't as satisfying as James had imagined and stalking away in broad daylight in the middle of the town felt more like running away than victory, but James lifted his chin and squared his shoulders and didn't look back though his heart ached to get another glimpse of Clint. He'd grown, filled out, long limbs more muscular than spindly, hair a tousled dark blond instead of honey wheat, but his eyes were the same: changeable blue-green with highlights of gold.

James stormed to the stables and ordered the hands to immediately saddle Beauty and then set Rhubarb in the frame of the cabriolet. Pacing the stables while they worked served to set more kindling to the fire of his temper than soothe him. With eyes on the street, he bit his lip and couldn't decide if he wanted Clint to follow or if that would be the worst thing that could happen. Once the stable hands were finished, he snatched the reins from their hands and mounted Beauty, tugging Rhubarb's reins to lead her.

Steve stood as James approached. "What?"

"No questions. We are leaving," he said. "Now," he added, voice as determined as he could make it to hide the way his insides were quaking.

"Right, I'll tell Rebecca, shall I?" Steve shook his head, eyes telling James exactly what he thought of being put in that position, but he didn't argue. Thank goodness for small mercies. James didn't think his luck would extend to Rebecca, but he was spoiling for a fight anyway.

She was building a full head of steam when she met his eyes. Nodding once, she closed her mouth and turned back to the proprietor who had followed her out, saying, "I shall return mid-week to continue this. Please send the bill and the finished goods to the estate." She leaned forward and kissed the elderly woman's cheeks before taking Steve's hand and stepping daintily into the carriage.

With a flick of the whip and a click of her tongue they were heading out.

After they'd crossed the town's bridge, she held her tongue no longer. "So spill," she said, pulling the cabriolet sideways across the road, hemming James in. "What has you in such a lather?"

"'Tis nothing," he lied.

Even Steve snorted at that.

"I know you, Jamie. I have known you since before you drew first breath. So tell us what has happened and be quick about it. What happened to your good humor?"

The sigh he let out seemed to cut his strings and he leaned forward in the saddle to rest his cheek against Beauty's mane. "I ran into Clint," he mumbled into the coarse hair.

"What?" both Steve and Rebecca said. "We didn't hear that."

The words were a tangled mess, jumbled up in his throat, but there was no way they'd leave this be. Both were as stubborn as a snapping turtle with a minnow in its jaw. "I said," he turned so his mouth was clear of Beauty's mane, but he didn't dare make eye contact, "that I ran into Clint." He clarified, "Barton."

"Oh, honey," Rebecca said, the gentleness in her tone only making James' insides clench tighter and his eyes prick.

"Stop it," he commanded, voice thick. "I am fine, or will be. I was just," he paused looking for a word to describe his maelstrom of emotions. "I was discomfited because his appearance was so unexpected."

"It should not have been a complete surprise," Stevie said. "Samuel warned you about a caravan. The one we all assume he left with."

A growl, low and painful erupted from James' throat. He turned to glare at Steve. "Larkin is _at best_ a confused old man and at worst he is always drunk as a skunk and seeing things!"

"Hush, now," Rebecca chided, but her voice was soft and calming. "Steve didn't mean anything by it," she said, nodding at Steve with a raised eyebrow.

"I did not, Buck," Steve agreed. "But I had hoped to warn you so that you could be prepared."

"Prepared for what? Coming face to face with _Clint_ in the middle of a crowded market?" he seethed. "Face to face after eight bloody years with not one single word? What could prepare me for that?"

"Stop it, dear brother," Rebecca shided. "Stevie is not your enemy here. He was only trying to help."

A thought sprang up and James narrowed his eyes at his sister. "And you? Was this another grand scheme of yours? Drag me all the way to Osmotherly for a 'chance' meeting?" he spat out. "Come all this way for more clothes when you already have trunks and trunks full?"

Rebecca stood up in the carriage, making it sway and bob as Steve grabbed for the reins she'd let fall. She pointed down at him from height. "Do not dare accuse me of conspiring against you!" she shouted. "I am sorry that you were surprised by Clint's presence! I am sorry that he still has power over you after all these years! Never again accuse me of wanting to hurt you!" She gasped and pressed a gloved palm over her mouth, eyes bright over flushed cheeks.

"Beccs--"

"Stop it," Steve said, voice quietly commanding as he tugged Rebecca to sit down beside him. "We _know,_ Buck, we have always known. He hurt you deeply when he left, but we had hoped that you were long over him so never gave another thought to his return," he said, voice filled with regret.

James swallowed. "Stevie--"

He held up a hand and shook his head. "Forgive me for the oversight. And I promise I'll do my damnedst to shield you from his presence."

When Steven Grant Rogers gave you his word, it was his bond and James trusted him with his life, but was that what he really wanted?

"Forgive me, love," Rebecca said, voice almost meek. "But I shall not be promising any such thing."

James' head jerked up to meet Rebecca's eyes. There were tears there, about to overflow, and the color was high on her cheeks, but she had that obstinate tilt to her chin, her lips set in a thin line. "What? Why ever not?"

"Because you need to deal with this entire mess. You need to tell Clint what you felt when he left without a word," she said. "And most of all you need to tell the foozler you are still in love with him!"

James spluttered, attempting to deny that last, but he couldn't find the words.

"Buck, talking to him's the right way to go about this," Steve added in. It felt more like piling on. "I'll do what you ask, but Becca's right for once in her life."

"Hey!"

James swallowed down the lump in his throat, tried to find words to argue with them, but he had no more fight left to give. "Let me think on it," he croaked out, then led Beauty around the cart and past Rhubarb to canter ahead. He'd never leave Stevie and his sister unescorted, but he couldn't bear to see the pity in their eyes any longer, so he rode in stilted silence, back stiff and mind whirling the entire way back.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

It was easy enough to avoid both Rebecca and Steve after that. The Barnes estate was large enough to keep James busy on any normal summer day, but with two upcoming weddings and the summer planting season upon them, he was easily busy from dawn until dusk. If he took his meals in the kitchen with the staff, no one said anything. At least not for another sevenday.

"You are brooding," Rachel said, catching James unawares as he checked all the tack in the stables.

Glancing up, he frowned at his younger sister. She was growing quickly now, limbs long like a colt's, but face still round with baby fat. He'd have to see her married off soon enough. He sighed. "What gives you that notion?"

She shook her head at him, but gave him a soft smile. "You are in here, doing a stablehands' chores _and_ you have not eaten dinner with the family in at least a week," she said. "You only do that when you have a problem you cannot solve, or you are truly angry at Becca, or maybe Stevie." She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips as though working through a particularly difficult problem. "Becca is being more than her usual annoying self, but not so much so that you'd be hiding from her, and Stevie is all smiles and infectious joy, so I do not think it is anything they have done, so you are brooding about something else."

"Do you not have something better to do than follow me around?"

"Nay, Mister Pym said I did so well on my exams that I had earned a respite. I have the next eight weeks off!" She sounded gleeful and James really didn't want to take away from her happiness.

"There are a million things you should be doing, you know."

"Aye," she nodded, then abruptly came up and wrapped her arms around James' waist. "But I think my brother has need of company that doesn't have any baggage."

"You think so?"

"Of course!" she chirped. "I had Missus Dunweady make us a picnic!" She kissed his cheek and then rushed back to the stable door, pulling a large basket inside with her. "I thought we could make an afternoon of it! Ride to the riverbank and swim like we used to?"

The note of question in her voice at the end illustrated just how much he'd been ignoring her. And furthermore, it really drove home just how much she was growing up right under his eyes without him taking notice. And then she'd be gone, leaving him behind soon enough.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he nodded. "Sounds like a day, little bug."

"Yay!" she clapped her hands in delight and James grinned. He could use the distraction.

~~*~~

If James had been thinking _at all_ he wouldn't have taken them to his favorite swimming hole. He'd have taken them to the small, but still perfectly swimmable creek at the far edge of the estate. They'd be assured of no one else being there. But he wasn't thinking clearly, and soon realized his mistake when their horses cantered around the final large bend in the road and the river and meadow beyond swam into view at the bottom of the hillside.

At the far Western edge of his sight, the river streamed down and over rocks tumbled down from the hillside. It was energetic and cool with heavy rains creating waterfalls and pools along the banks. Then it widened, spreading out through the gentle slope until it was far too broad and deep to cross except at the lone bridge along the road ahead, flowing leisurely through the meadows stretching far to the East. 

There was one particular spot, near the river's edge under the shade of a stand of towering oaks and maples that James had planned to share their picnic. The river curved and narrowed at that point, burbled around and over fallen stones from an old stonework bridge, building a deep pool with eddies of clear water just under a large oak limb which spanned half the width of the river. It had been a favorite spot of his friends since they were allowed to venture far afield. The old rope was still hanging there; the tree growing over where the rope was tied along its branch. And James purposefully did not reminisce about all the time he and Clint had spent under that tree and in this pool.

By the laughter and music drifting up the hill from the water's edge, they were not the first to think of having a picnic. Nor were they the first to avail themselves of James' favorite spot. Colorful tents and wooden caravans stretched in semi-circles away from the main bridge along the riverbank. There was splashing and laughter and shouts making James freeze. He was both angry and sad and pulled Beauty to a stop.

"Looks like we need to find another spot," he said as he began to tug Beauty's reins to turn her.

"What?" Rachel said, shaking her head. "Why?" She hadn't moved Snowball to follow.

"Because those are not the types--"

"James Barnes!" she hissed. "If you dare to finish that sentence, I will tell Mother _and_ Father!" She glared at him, brows creased and lips frowning, the spitting image of Rebecca when she was on a tear.

"But, Bug," he protested, desperately trying to find a way out of this that didn't end in ugly tears.

She was shaking her head. "No," drawing up to sit taller in the saddle, she pointed a finger at him. "Do not say it. They are _travelers,_ yes, even vagabonds, but they are still _people._"

"But they are not _our_ people and I am responsible for you," he argued. "I do not know them and do not trust them."

The line of her spine softened a bit. "Bucky," she said, "Mister Pym took me to see their performance. They are artists, just as Steve is, but their canvas is their bodies instead of linen."

James crossed his arms over his chest, holding Beauty still with his knees. "Who fed you that nonsense?"

Rachel grinned. "Janet."

"Hmmmm."

"But how could they be untrustworthy if Mister Pym allowed them into his home? Hope attended the performance, too!"

"That has no bearing on what I will or will not allow," he said. "I am not Hope's brother."

"But, Bucky!" she protested and he knew she'd be stomping her foot if she was on the ground. "You can not believe how talented they are and how amazing!" she sighed. "Miss Maximoff is beautiful and the most graceful dancer I have ever seen!"

James blinked at Rachel. He recognized that face, knew what was going on. Her expression mirrored his own when he was fourteen with a life changing crush.

"Oh, Bug," he said, shoulders slumping. "I am sure she is quite talented, but she is a performer. It is her job to entrance you."

"I--" she hesitated, cheeks flaming. "I said nothing about being entranced!"

James rolled his eyes at how transparent she was being. Had he been so obvious at four and ten?

"Stop it!" she fussed at him. "There were jugglers, acrobats and an archer!"

"An archer, eh?"

"Aye," she said. "He made the most impossible shots!"

"He did?"

"And he has very pretty blue eyes," she said, face going mischievous. "I think you'd like him very much."

"What I like or do not has no--"

"When did you stop being fun?" Rachel asked, interrupting James and throwing him for a loop.

"What?"

"You heard me. You used to be fun, but lately you are so serious, almost always wearing a dark countenance."

It was then that she shifted Snowball to come alongside James. "Is it Stevie being wed? Or is it something else?" she asked, raw concern in her eyes.

With a slow, indrawn breath, James shook his head. "Forgive me, Bug. I have been thinking of little else than nuptials… all of them not mine."

"So, do something about it!"

"It is not that easy," he said, smile wistful but fond as he gazed at Rachel.

"Of course it is. I am not saying you have to accept that odd one's suit, but there are plenty of fish in the sea!"

"You mean, like a dancer in a traveling circus?"

She squeaked and James was glad for the chance to change the subject, but he was no closer to dissuading her from continuing on to the river.

He glanced up, prayed for rain, but the sky was clear and bright with only high wispy clouds in the distance. It was a lovely day, perfectly suited for swimming and lounging by the river.

"What inducement can I provide that will allow us to return whence we came and go to the miller's pond instead?" he asked.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "None. You promised to spend time with me today. Here is all I will accept."

"I could put my foot down."

"You could, but you will not."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her smile grew sly and mischievous. "Because a little bird told me that you might have unfinished business with one of the travelers."

James blinked, dawning realization on his face. "You knew?" he shouted.

"Aye!" she said, then leaned forward and took off down the hill like a shot, hair streaming behind her.

"Rachel!" he called after her, but it was no good. She had set him up. Probably with Clint's help, the scheming bastard. Of course, he'd remember Rachel and she must have remembered him even if she'd been all of six when she'd last seen Clint.

Cursing himself for a fool, he spurred Beauty forward to try to cut her off.

~~*~~

By the time he caught up to Rachel, she'd already dismounted and was chattering excitedly with a young woman with long dark auburn hair and intense light eyes. She was slight, but James could see the power in the lines of her body, the way she held herself. She was young yet, like a colt, but would soon break hearts near and far. He would not allow his sister to be the first casualty.

"Rachel Beatrice Barnes!" he shouted, hopping off Beauty and striding toward the two young women.

Before he took two steps a young man blocked his path. "Who are you and what business have you here?" He puffed out his chest and stood at his full height, but could not look James straight in the eye.

"I have come to get my sister, if you do not mind," he spat out, voice hard.

"Your sister is welcome here," the young man said, arms crossed and not moving a muscle. "You are not."

"Peace, Pietro," came a voice from behind James; a voice he knew all too well even if it had deepened and grown slightly rougher.

"Clint," he said, but didn't turn around.

"Well, well, if it isn't mister high and mighty himself, James Buchanan Barnes in the flesh!" Clint's voice was mocking, but with a harsh undertone.

James lifted his hands and turned halfway, unwilling to fully take his eyes off Rachel. It took all of his willpower and the lingering anger from Rachel's scheming not to gape. James was faced with a sight from his deepest fantasy: Clint standing before him in tight breeches, white shirt loose and untucked, its sides billowing softly in the slight breeze baring his chest and abdominals, hair tied at the nape of his neck with tendrils brushing a strong jaw and eyes glittering darkly.

"I mean no harm, I just came--"

"No harm?" Clint snorted, derision sharp. "Of course not, you merely came racing through our home to 'save' your dear sister from the dangers me and mine pose." He crossed his arms over his chest, his very bare, tanned chest.

"Um," James shook himself. "I--"

"Cat got your tongue?" Clint scoffed. "Where did the silver tongued devil get to?"

"Whuh?" James stumbled and fumbled, nothing coherent coming out.

And making everything worse in the face of Clint's animosity, a beautiful, petite woman with flame red hair and the poise of a ballet dancer stepped up to Clint's side, long delicate fingers resting on his upper arm. James' eyes were glued to the way those fingers touched Clint, the way he glanced at her and his whole countenance softened, lips turning up into a big, easy grin that made James' heart flutter and twist.

"Do you need help taking out the trash, my Hawk?" she asked, her voice husky around the hard tones of the Russian.

James fidgeted under her ice cold green gaze. But her dismissive attitude made his anger flare bright and hot once again. He straightened and opened his mouth to reply in his maternal grandmother's native Russian, when Clint wrapped an arm around the woman's delicate shoulders and turned that wide grin on James.

"Nay, Tash," he said. "This is James Buchanan Barnes himself."

She cocked her head, gaze shifting from assessing to knowing and that made James far more uncomfortable than her initial distrust. "Is it now?" she asked, no trace of accent in her proper English. She held out a slender arm. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she said, "I have heard so _much_ about you."

Reacting instinctively, James took her hand and bowed over it, lips brushing the air above her hand.

"James, Natasha Romanoff," Clint said. "She is the best dancer and aerialist in all the world. Bar none," he added.

"It is my pleasure," James replied formally and in Russian just to let her know she was caught out.

Natasha looked between the two men and chuckled. "Oh, you never mentioned that he was such a clever one!"

Clint's free hand moved to the back of his neck and he licked his lips, his downcast eyes making long lashes brush his cheeks and made James want to run a thumb over the color sweeping up his cheek bones.

Natasha darted a quick glance Clint's way before turning those intense green eyes back to James. "You have unfinished business with each other, I suggest you attend to it," she said, all command and control, voice just a shade dismissive wrapped in cool vowels.

James found himself nodding along while Clint murmured, "Aw, Tash."

"Wanda and I will entertain your sister. We very much enjoyed her company earlier so 'tis no hardship," she said, then walked away, dismissing them from her consideration.

James blinked after her wondering what had happened.

"She does that," Clint said, voice too close as his breath brushed James' cheek.

James tilted his head, only to notice just how close Clint was. He swallowed. "Does what?"

"Tells me how it shall be," he explained.

James glanced over at Rachel who was gazing at Natasha with eyes as round as saucers and cheeks dusted with pink. But her smile was as wide as he'd seen. She looked genuinely happy and who was he to deny her just because he was having trouble with his lungs which seem unable to draw in air with Clint nearby.

Clint followed James' gaze and shrugged his shoulders. "I swear she will be well, James," he vowed, voice firm. "Everyone here will protect her just as we would Wanda. I give you my word."

James nodded. He could do little else with Clint standing there in the sunshine, hair golden and eyes bluer than the summer sky. "Very well, then," he agreed. "We have been commanded to resolve our unfinished business, so I suggest we do so."

"Maybe we could go for a walk?" Clint suggested, voice no longer so assured.

"As long as you do not intend to murder me and toss my body in the river," James teased, or tried to, but the jest fell flat if the horror spreading on Clint's face was an indication. 

"Sorry!" he added, hand going to his face. "I was trying--"

"To make a joke?" Clint asked and James nodded.

"'Tis good to know I am not the only one who is so terrible with their words," he chuckled. "Believe me when I say your poor attempt at humor instantly made me feel better."

James snorted. "That _is_ good news, since I am quite awful at small talk."

"Shall we?" Clint offered, one hand pointing forward upriver, while the other had settled, warm and large in the center of James' back.

"Aye," he said, slightly breathless. These damn lungs of his! He must have caught Stevie's ailment!

~~*~~

As they walked, James kept his eyes forward, the river at his left, Clint at his right, their steps long and unhurried. If he kept stealing glances, there was no one to see after they rounded another bend in the river. They walked in companionable silence, with James' thundering heart marking time until Clint stopped. He stretched, long arms over his head, his shirt still wide open and drawing James' eye like moths to flame.

"How about here?" Clint asked.

"Huh?"

"For our 'unfinished business'?" Clint explained, head cocked in curiosity. "You know,where we are supposed to talk?"

"Oh! Of course!" James nodded, throat dry as Clint completely stripped off his shirt before sitting on the bank and beginning to remove his boots.

"What?" James squeaked. "Um, what are you doing?" he tried to keep his voice steady, had to close his eyes to block out the site of Clint: bare and warm and _undressing_.

"What does it look like?" Clint asked, but did not stop, hastily tossing his boots to the side. "Are you not boiling in all that garb?" Then he stretched out his legs and wiggled bare feet in the sun!

James flushed, could feel it down to his toes. He shook his head, eyes firmly fixed on the trees on the opposite bank. "I am fine," he answered, voice stiff, but he sat down, against a tree further up the bank, one leg stretched out, the other bent so that he could rest his chin on his knee and hide in the shade.

Clint sprawled along the grass, arms and legs spread wide in the sun as if he was tribute put there for the taking.

James forced his eyes away. "You will pay for being so free with the sun," he chastised.

Clint chuckled, the sound making James want things that he could not even consider. "I am no longer a lord who must maintain 'appearances'," he said, then rolled to his stomach and met James' eyes. "I am merely a performer and a little color always looks better under the lights."

"Uh," James swallowed thickly, felt caught out by Clint's kaleidoscopic gaze.

"So, Lord Barnes, to what do I owe you gracing us with your esteemed presence?" Clint asked, even as James' eye caught on the swell of his backside, the way a tiny droplet of sweat slid slowly down his spine until disappearing in his breeches.

"I--" James would swear that he'd been bespelled with his complete inability to form sentences.

Clint gave a sly grin, cocking his head as he did so. "So eloquent!" he mocked. "Have you grown dumb whilst I was away?"

"I can speak, thank you very much!" James blurted out.

"Can you now?" Clint snorted, shifting to sit in the sunshine, one leg bent, the other stretched out to the side. "It seems to me that you are all anger and bluster with little of value to say," Clint countered, then bent forward at the waist until his nose touched the ground.

"Stop it!" James growled. "Stop confusing me!"

Clint lifted up to glare at James. "I have done nothing to you! You have been nothing but churlish and insulting from the first! I think you owe me an explanation!"

"I owe _you_ an explanation!" he shouted, blood boiling. "What about you? Leaving without telling anyone! And making us all fear that you'd been taken against your will or worse!"

The look Clint gave him was dumbstruck as he just blinked at James, mouth agape and blinking. "We talked about my plans!" he pointed an accusing finger at James. "I told you what I was going to do!"

"I never believed you were serious about running away!" James shot back. "Why would you when you were more than welcome in our home!"

Clint shook his head at James. "You are truly an idiot, James."

"What? Why would you say that?" James reared back, truly offended that his offer had been dismissed so readily.

Clint frowned then sighed, his whole countenance drooping like a lily lying in the sun. "I swear I never believed Rebecca or Steve, but we always were talking past each other."

"What?" James had no idea what Clint was talking about, but his stomach was in knots and his throat was parched as if he'd been screaming for days.

"James, there was nowhere I could go, not anywhere here, _especially_ not your home. Do you not understand that? My nan had made her bargain, taken the money, and she was hellbent for leather that I hold up the agreement."

"I could have loaned you--"

Clint's head shot up and he pointed a finger at James, eyes flashing dangerously. "Do not dare finish that sentence! I was not going to be sold into marriage and I sure as hell was not going to borrow my way into one either, not even with you!"

"With me?" James asked, voice going high with fury. "I did not suggest you prostitute yourself!" he shouted. "By the gods! Do you think so little of me? How could you think so little of my parents?" He shook his head, brows furrowing. "What goes on in that head of yours?"

"You are not listening!" Clint threw up his hands and arose, striding away from James who had to give chase. They were not done. They could not leave it like this.

Clint was fleet as a rabbit, off like a shot as James gave chase, his boots squelching in the damp riverbank. He caught up to Clint standing in the shade of a wizened elm, toes pressing into the mud in between reeds and cat's tails, the water trickling over his slowing sinking feet.

"You will get stuck," James said to Clint's back, voice a splintered rasp.

His shoulders sagged, but James didn't stop staring, couldn't if his life had depended on it. He'd seen Clint in all states of dress since they were young and getting into trouble, mud and grass stains the least of it. But his last glimpse of Clint had been of a gangly teen who'd just had a growth spurt. His breeches were all too short and his brother's hand-me-down shirts were all too large. Now those shirts would stretch tight across the expanse of toned muscle.

"Please talk to me, Clint," he asked. "I will admit to being an idiot. Becca and Stevie still tell me that," he explained, trying to lighten the mood between them. "Help me understand."

"There is little to understand," he said, voice so broken that James just wanted to wrap him up and hold him, pretend that they were once again in short pants and always hugged and touched without fear.

"There may be little to know, but, for you, I wish to know it all the same."

Clint inhaled and straightened, his spine like the mast on one of her Majesty's finest.

He turned and James had to fight to keep from touching his face, from pulling him in and lying to him, telling him whatever is wrong now everything would be fine in the morning.

"James, my nan insisted I be wed to get me away from you."

"From me?" James squeaked. "But, what, _why?_"

Clint chuckled and the smile softened every line in his face. "I was head over heels in love with you, you dolt!" he practically threw the words at James. "Even my half-blind nan could see that, but you never could!"

"But, I thought," James stammered. "Money?" he finally asked, voice high and eyes wide.

Clint shook his head again, but his smile was fond and his eyes were light. James had always marveled at the changeable color of Clint's eyes. He could never truly conceal his emotions because the color of his eyes always gave him away; from almost light green to blue as the summer sky, even a muted gold when he was sad, or heartbroken.

"Aye, money was an issue, but Lady Beatrice Barton née Lindemann was not going to allow her grandson to consort with a papist!" he said, and for a moment, James was taken back to their teen years and the few times they had roamed the Barton estate. He'd never thought about the way Clint would always usher them elsewhere after his nan had called for him, nor had he considered the way that Clint's shoulders would hunch and his cheeks would be red tinged.

"Oh," James breathed out.

"Aye," Clint nodded, bravado leaching from his bones. "Making sure I was wed to a well-heeled Protestant killed two birds with one stone and I could not do it." He pulled his feet out from the mud and stepped further into the river, his easy grace drawing James' eyes.

"I would have offered!" he blurted out. 

"What?" Clint turned back to look at James.

"If I had but known," he said. "I would have offered for your hand."

"I needed nor wanted your pity, James," Clint said, jaw going hard.

"It was not, is not, nor would ever have been pity," he said, stepping forward, hand outstretched to finally touch.

Clint's lips parted on a surprised gasp and then James' boot slipped on a mossy stone and he slipped. Flailing, he made to straighten, to reach out to safety and that meant Clint's arm, but then the toe of James' other boot caught and he couldn't catch himself. He overbalanced and they both went arse over teakettle into the river proper.

James swallowed water and came up spluttering and mad and utterly humiliated because Clint surfaced graceful and unearthly as though he were some water sprite with dancing eyes and a laughing mouth.

"You!" he swore, struggling to tug off his sodden jacket.

"Me? What did I do?" Clint asked, still laughing. "You look like a drowned rat."

It was absurd, but James had to laugh. He finally stripped his arms out of his jacket and flung it at Clint's head. "I had meant to go for a swim, but I have swim clothes for that!"

"I can help you with that," Clint said, voice gone low and a bit husky.

James groaned, his groin tightening despite the cool water. "If you touch me, I will not be responsible for my actions," James warned. "Your lady? Um wife? Um… well, Missus Romanoff looked fierce enough to castrate me and do it with glee."

Clint laughed aloud, had to cover his mouth to contain an undignified snort.

"Do not make fun of me!"

"You are truly an idiot, James," Clint said. "But the most handsome one I have ever known!"

"What now?" James huffed. "Have I not borne enough insults for the day?"

Clint stepped forward, his wet breeches clinging even more tightly to his thighs. There was nowhere safe for James to rest his eyes with all that wet skin on display, glinting in the sun. "Did you miss the handsome part?"

Lifting his chin, James straightened. "Aye, but," he said, unable to finish the thought when Clint pressed his bare skin against James.

"For the record, Lord Barnes, Missus Romanoff is like a sister to me. I would die for her, would probably kill to protect her, but I am not and have never been in love with her," he said. James felt pinned by the intensity of Clint's gaze, his own eyes darting to Clint's lips. "So, you know now why I fled and why I returned."

"For me?"

Clint chuckled and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to James' lips, leaving him stunned and awestruck. "Nay," he said, tone teasing. "I am about to be an uncle! And I had heard rumor that two of my best childhood friends were getting married. How could I not return?"

He pulled back. "I _am_ invited to the weddings?"

"You only reconciled to get an invitation?" James shrieked, but he was laughing and decided to take advantage. He pushed Clint backwards, while wrapping a leg around his calf, dumping him into the river again.

It was an unwise move. The riverbed was perilously slick and his breeches were heavy, pulling him off-balance and Clint really had grown into a slippery, graceful water sprite. They tussled and laughed and dunked each other numerous times before James was breathless and cried out "Peace!"; his hands raised in surrender.

"Ha!" Clint gloated. "I could never beat you before!"

James dragged himself up the bank and sprawled in the sunshine. "I always had a secret weapon. I had Stevie on my side, remember?"

"Aye, how could I forget?" Clint dropped to the ground beside James, one leg bent as he took the tie off his hair, shaking the golden locks to spill about his shoulders.

James gazed up at him, still so smitten. "In all seriousness, would you come to Stevie's wedding? I know he'd be glad to see you."

Clint flushed then glanced away.

"What?" James asked, hand going to Clint's bare arm.

"I have already seen Steve and Rebecca," Clint replied. "I came to the estate, but you were not there." He shrugged and wouldn't meet James' eyes.

"Why did they not tell me?" he asked, sitting up.

"I asked that they not," Clint said. He looked up quickly, eyes wide. "I had no ill intent! I merely had hoped to surprise you myself." He sagged. "But then we did meet and you were--"

"I was an ass?"

"I was going to say a bit boorish." Clint's lips curled up slightly as he cocked his head, making the sun hit the bridge of his nose and reveal freckles scattered across the skin. 

James' breath caught and his heart twisted. He was more taken than ever with Clint. Reaching down without taking his eyes from Clint's, he asked, voice gone a bit rough from nerves, "May I court you, Lord Barton?"

Clint blinked as though shocked, but then he tackled James into the grass with a cry, "Aye! 'Tis all I have ever wanted!"

~~*~~

Clint wanted to immediately race back to his encampment and tell everyone the news, but James convinced him to sit with him for longer. They whiled away the afternoon in lazy conversation peppered with chaste kisses and cautious touches.

When they at last made their way back to the caravans, they were both disheveled and slightly damp. James was barefoot, his boots unwearable, and his clothes were littered with mud and grass stains. Clint, for his part, looked like an angel. He was shirtless, damp hair curling around his cheeks and grazing his shoulders, his cheeks had gained more color in the sun and he glowed. Just to be beside him, made James light as a feather.

He knew what they looked like and held his head high, though his mother would have words with him should she ever get wind of this. As they made the outer circle of the caravan hoots, whoops and whistles started up, followed by jeers.

"Hawkeye's finally gotten some!"

"No monastery for Hawkeye now!"

"Good 'un, Hawkeye! He's a looker!"

Clint ignored them for the most part, his cheeks flushing slightly, but James was bright red from his forehead to his neck. When he tried to release their hands, Clint merely tugged him closer and kept them entwined. "You'll not be getting away from me that easily, James Barnes," he muttered. "A bit of good natured ribbing and you want to go running for the hills!"

"I merely do not want people to think badly of you!" James protested.

Clint stopped and turned to look James straight in the eye. "Every last one of these crazy folk are my family. There's not a one that thinks badly of me for finding you again. Teasing is just their way."

"And besides," Natasha said from behind them, making James jump. "Clint can take care of himself and his honor, if he truly ever had any."

The woman who appeared beside them was not the same one from earlier. She _was,_ but this Natasha was smiling and her eyes were warm as she glanced at their joined hands. "Do you have news for us?" she asked.

"Hey!," Clint appeared affronted, but then his face broke out into a huge grin. "I'm being courted, Tash!"

A rousing cheer erupted through camp.

She kissed Clint's cheek, then kissed James'. "Congratulations to you both."

Rachel rounded the corner of a caravan and her eyes widened, then her hand went to her mouth to cover her very audible gasp. When she could contain her laughter, she pointed a finger at James. "James Buchanan Barnes, you are in so much trouble!"

James straightened. "What? Why? I have done nothing wrong here."

"Your boots are ruined! What will you wear to the wedding now?"

He glanced down at the boots in his left hand, they were sopping wet and covered in mud and moss.

"Oh, bollocks!" he swore.

"Lend them to me, Otto is a miracle worker with leather," Clint said, holding out his hand.

"I will pay, of course," James offered. 

"You bet you will," Clint smirked, then winked. That simple gesture sent heat licking up James' spine and down to his toes. He stared at Clint's lips, mouth agape.

Rachel groaned. "You have barely announced your intentions and are already worse than Becca!"

James laughed aloud, then grabbed Rachel about the waist and swung her around in a circle. "I only hope to be half again as bad as Rebecca, though I think I have my work cut out for me. None are as spoilt as she."

"Put me down!" she laughed and flailed, shoving at his shoulders. "James!"

"Rachel!"

"You are mad!" she huffed, slapping at his arm before straightening her skirts when he finally sat her down.

"I am!" he said, arms wide as he gazed at Clint and grinned. "Mad in love!"

Clint flushed brightly then ducked his head, but James did not miss his boyish grin.

"And now we have to go," Rachel spoke, pulling James' attention from Clint.

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

Rachel pointed to the west. "Because the sun is setting and Mother will be holding dinner," she reminded, speaking slowly as though James were daft. And, well, he was wasn't he? "And you know how Father gets when dinner is delayed."

James sighed, shoulders slumping. "Aye, I well know what happens if we keep Father from his repast."

Clint stepped up to James. "You will return?" he asked.

Every atom of his being honed in on Clint, his eyes, his mouth, the freckles across his nose, the way his hair curled around his ears and brushed his collar bone. "Aye," he breathed out. "And you know the way to my home as well."

"I do," Clint said, licking his lips.

Natasha stepped between them, breaking their gazes. "There will be time enough for more of this. Clint has work to do and so do you." She pressed her palms flat against their chests, pushing them apart, gently but firmly.

Rachel grabbed James' hand. "Come along, you lovestruck fool," she said then began tugging him toward their horses.

Clint waved and James lifted his hand, body turning back, but Rachel wouldn't release him.

The ride home was made in silence with James lost in reverie, a wistful smile on his face.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The next sevenday passed in a blur of last minute fittings, running errands, and stealing time from soothing Stevie's nerves to spend time with Clint. That meant that James was up with the dawn and out late into the evening, but he would do anything to see Clint's smile on his way into town and once again on the way back, though their time together was little more than that.

And James hadn't yet spoken to his mother about Clint's return, nor his offer to court him.

But it was impossible to keep a secret from Lady Winnifred Barnes.

On the fourth day, James was sneaking down the back stairs when he was caught.

"And just where do you think you are going?" Winnifred asked, words quiet, but sharp.

Winnifred didn't raise her voice, she had no need to. She simply stood at the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line; her gray eyes calculating.

"Um, I am needed at," he hesitated, "the florist!" He finished with a flourish. "That's it."

Thoroughly unimpressed, Winnifred raised one eyebrow and pointed to the parlor. "You are sitting down right this instant and telling me everything about the young man that you would dare lie to _me_ for."

"But, Mother--"

"Now."

She didn't raise her voice, but she expected to be obeyed in her home and James was not brave enough to dare challenge her. She turned her back on him, stepping into the kitchen where he could hear her order tea and breakfast cakes be sent to the parlor immediately. James glanced at the front door, but he'd have to pass both the kitchen and the parlor. He stood no chance of escape; not and live to tell the tale.

Sighing, he trod to the parlor, his mind whirling and heart thudding painfully against his ribs.

He startled when he saw that his father was already in the room and having his morning tea along with the newspaper.

"Um, Father?" he asked, tentative.

"Get in here, boy. You've caused me a mess of trouble, including dragging me out of my bed far too early, but mostly you've angered your mother and that makes life for all of us hell."

"I apologize."

"Not to _me,_ son. You'll explain yourself to her and hope she hasn't decided to sell us both to the highest bidder."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Winnifred stepped into the room, interrupting George. "You are both being ridiculous!"

"Now, Winnifred," George began.

"Don't you 'now Winnifred' me!" she said and George's mouth slammed shut. Then she turned and pointed to the settee. "And you, James Buchanan Barnes, sit."

James sat.

Winnifred began pacing. "I just do not understand why? Tell me why?"

James opened his mouth to answer, but she glared at him. "I did not say you could speak!"

"Winnifred," George tried. "My dear, please be reasonable."

"Reasonable!" She threw her hands up, then placed them on her hips. "I am not the one sneaking around behind everyone's backs!"

"I wasn't sneaking," James protested.

"What do you call it?" she asked. "I caught you slinking down the back stairs _holding_ your boots in your hands."

"Mother," James tried to make some headway, but Winnifred was not going to be appeased.

"Who has turned your head? And why now? What on earth are you thinking?" she asked, but didn't wait for his reply. "If it is that Odinson fellow--"

"Mother!" James raised his voice and only then did Winnifred stop speaking.

Her eyes widened and she turned to George. "Do you see, George? I don't know what's gotten into him. He would never have been rude to me before."

George chuckled. "That's hardly the case, but I would like to hear what he has to say for himself," he said. "So can you please sit down and let the boy get a word in edgewise?"

Winnifred huffed through her nose, but she sat down in the wingback chair that was hers and hers alone. Crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them under the chair, she straightened her skirts before finally pinning James with a hard glare, one that reminded him of all the trouble he used to get up to. "Do be quick about it," she said.

"You are not wrong, Mother. I have been seeing someone," he began. With the mood his mother was in there was no sense beating around the bush. "And I have asked if I could court him."

"What?" she nearly leapt out of her chair, but George rested a hand on her arm keeping her in place.

"Let him finish."

James thought about drawing it out, thought about seeing just how far he could take it, but then he thought about Clint's smile and how much he wanted to see him.

"It's the younger Barton, Mother."

She blinked at him, her mouth slightly open, but no words coming out.

George glanced at his wife and then smiled at James. "I think you broke her, son."

James moved to kneel before his mother and rested a hand on hers. "Mother?"

"Do you mean to tell me that Clinton is back and no one thought to tell _me?_"

"Uh," James stammered unsure just how much trouble he'd gotten them all in.

"No one wished to add to your concerns, Winnifred," George said, saving James. "I'm sure they had plans to tell you very soon." George glared at James.

"Aye, that's right, Mother. We just--"

"We?"

James' eyes widened. He was only making this worse.

"Who is _we_?"

George crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes at James, making it clear James was now very much on his own.

"Um, well, _me_ and, uh, Steve," he stuttered out, trying to draw it out in the hopes the kitchen would catch fire or something equally catastrophic would happen to distract her.

"Just the two of you?" she asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Um, well, Becca and Rachel might have been made aware--"

"So every last one of my children then?"

James sagged. "Aye," he answered meekly. He was in so much trouble. And not just with his parents.

"I will see to your sisters," she said, and her tone boded nothing good for them. "Steve is about to be married, it is not his concern to inform me of these things," she adds. "But you--" she pointed at James and then tugged on his braid. "You were keeping that young man from me and I'll not have it."

"Forgive me?" James asked, looking at her with all the innocence he could conjure. "I forgot myself."

She snorted at him and tugged harder on his braid, a fond smile creeping onto her face. "God love you, Jamie, but that face hasn't worked on me since you were all of five and caught red-handed in the cookie jar."

"It was worth a shot," he said.

She tapped his nose. "I expect your young man for dinner."

"But I do not--"

"Tonight, James Barnes."

"Tonight?"

"Aye." She looked over at George who was wearing a slight smirk. "Do you agree?"

George stood and offered her his arm. "Of course, my dear. It has been far too long since we've had the pleasure of young Clinton's company."

James groaned and sagged to the floor as Winnifred stood.

"You best get to it, James. 'Tis rude not to give him time to prepare."

"Aye, Mother." What else could he say? He hoped Clint was up to a family dinner and not just any family dinner, but a _Barnes_ family dinner.

~~*~~

In the end, it didn't take much convincing for Clint to agree. James merely had to kiss him breathless behind his caravan and promise more of the same after he braved the entire Barnes clan.

Clint was wily and arrived early with Natasha on his arm and a bouquet of roses he pressed into Winnifred's arms. She dragged him into a tearful hug before latching onto both of them to introduce to everyone. She monopolized them during drinks before dinner, making James marvel at their bearing and grace in the face of Winnifred Barnes politely worded interrogation.

James stood next to his father and watched the parade, his eyes following Clint's every movement.

"You do know that your mother was quite upset with Lady Beatrice?" George asked and James nodded idly without taking his gaze from Clint. He hadn't actually considered how anyone else had felt back then. He was far too consumed with his own heartache.

"In truth, I've never seen your mother speak to anyone the way she did to Beatrice."

James cocked his head. "She spoke to Lady Barton?"

"I think 'spoke' is far too gentle a word for the earful she gave her." George smirked. "I think Beatrice's hat was blown off from the vociferousness of her tirade."

George pressed a palm to James' shoulder. "Son, your mother and I have only ever wanted you to be happy. We knew what Clinton meant to you and we were not blind to your pain, but there was little we could do except be here for you and allow time to heal the wound."

James swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I--"

Impulsively, he turned and hugged his father. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?" George asked, patting his back carefully.

"Accepting Clint," he answered. "Trusting me."

"'Tis no hardship," George said. "He was a big-hearted if mischievous boy and he must have grown into a fine young man if you were so quickly taken with him once again. We would be honored to have him join the family."

"You mean that?"

"Of course. I'll leave it to your mother to put the fear in him."

James laughed, his throat a bit thick and eyes pricking, but his heart was nigh to singing.

Even though dinner was loud and filled with robust humor of which James was often the brunt of the teasing, there were plenty of questions, mostly centering on Clint and Natasha and their travels, his mother keeping a tight hand on the conversation. She never allowed it to veer too far from Clint and always directed the subject back to him.

Clint took it well, was jovial and charming. He was performing, putting on a show, but it was well done and Winnifred was cheerful and smiling by the time they adjourned to the library so that George could indulge in his pipe and port and Rebecca and Steve could pull out the chess set.

Natasha deftly intercepted Winnifred by asking about her needlework and the two were soon bent over the latest work Winnifred had, comparing stitches and fabrics. James breathed out a sign and sagged into the settee next to Clint. Cautiously he put out a hand and Clint accepted, threading their fingers together as he leaned slightly against James.

"Thank you," he said, voice gone soft.

"'Tis I that should be thanking you for putting up with all of this," James said, waving with his free hand to encompass his family and home.

Clint turned to gaze at him and James felt caught, heart beginning to beat quicker. "This is all I've ever wanted," he breathed out.

"It is?" James asked, dumbfounded.

Clint chuckled softly and squeezed their fingers together. "Aye, it was mostly just me and Barney after mother passed and the house was always so quiet and cold," he said. "Your house was always loud and so warm," he admitted. "And your mother's hugs were so nice. I barely remember my own."

"Oh," James breathed out. He desperately needed to chase that sadness off Clint's face.

"I have an idea," he said. "Come with me?"

"I would follow you to the ends of the earth, James Barnes," Clint agreed, making James grin like a fool.

James stood. "I am going to show Clint around the grounds."

Rebecca snickered making Winnifred narrow her eyes at her.

"Do not be gone too long, son," his dad said, then winked when Winnifred glared at Steve's grin.

Permission given, James hurried them out before Winnifred could think to object.

The last rays of the sun were lighting the west, indigo chasing magenta as a field of stars lit the sky. James gazed at Clint and took his hand, racing away from the main house and stables toward a crest in the land before it dropped to the wide, planted fields.

He tucked them behind mossy stones and pressed Clint's back to the rock, nudging his face with his nose.

Clint cocked his head and gave James a flirty smirk. "Awfully eager this night, aren't you Mister Barnes?" he asked, smirk going wide.

"Aye," James replied, almost breathless from the sight of Clint. "I was forced to watch you, be near you all the evening long, and yet could not touch." He snuck his hands under Clint's coat, wrapping them around his vest. He longed to feel more, to touch the warm expanse of skin he knew lay under Clint's linen shirt.

His smile grew soft and Clint leaned back, raised his arms above his head, and offered James a heavy-lidded gaze that sent James' heart racing. "Do your worst, m'dear," he said, voice gone husky. "For I am all yours for the taking."

James' breath caught and he licked his lips before leaning in and plundering Clint's willing mouth. James was so lost in tasting Clint, in claiming what was his, he didn't notice when Clint dropped his arms to James' shoulder and then did something with his hips which sent them twirling and left James pressed against the rock.

Clint's laughter filled James with light and joy. He mimicked Clint's form, raising his hands over his head as he said, "I am yours, Clint, you must know that."

Clint gazed at James, eyes filled with wonder and delight. "In truth, I so often imagined what kissing you would feel like, but I never had hope that I could one day."

He pressed close, slid his nose along James' chin, up his jawline, to nuzzle at his ear. "I confess that I dreamed about more than merely kissing you," he breathed out. 

The confession made James' head spin and he moaned aloud. With another shift of Clint's hips, James felt an answering hardness pressing against his own. The very idea that Clint desired _him_ was enough to set James' blood alight. He groaned and sagged back, tried to get the raging inferno in his blood under control. "You cannot say such things!" he protested, but dragged Clint in for more drugging kisses, this time with their cocks fitting against each other, only the thin cloth of their breeches keeping their honor whole.

With a gasp, Clint pulled away and James could only stare at him, at his kiss bruised lips, at the way his hair was slipping from its tie, at the way the rising moon lit his hair, making it shine like spun gold. "I love you," James breathed out.

Clint ducked his head, long lashes brushing his cheeks. "You do not truly know me."

Using his index finger, James urged Clint's chin up. "I know you, Clint. You have matured, grown wiser, but you are still _you,_ still my first and only love."

"James--"

"Do not gainsay me on this. I have seen how hard you work, how much you _care._ I heard how the circus would have gone under when Ivan passed. You are a man of honor and integrity and I am the luckiest man alive."

Clint grew shy as James spoke, ducking his head and closing his eyes, color going high on his cheeks. There was not one untruth or exaggeration in his words. "Look at me, please?" James asked.

Clint swallowed and looked up. "What would you have me say?" he asked, voice soft.

"Merely that you will give me the chance to get to know you once again."

"I--"

"I am not asking you to give up traveling," James said. "I would not ask that of you, Clint. That's your family," James continued, voice going firm. "England is not so large that it could keep us apart for long."

Clint's eyes were shining, a single tear threatening to fall from the corner of his eye. But James caught it on his thumb. "You would do all that? For me?"

"Aye," James nodded.

"You deserve better," Clint said. "You should have someone who can be at your side and look after you, not some--"

"Do I not get a say in what I want?" James interrupted.

"Of course, I would never--"

James tugged Clint close, shushed him with a kiss. Then kissed him again and again, until Clint forgot all protestations. When James finally tilted his head back, a smug smile on his face, Clint just blinked, his eyes near dazed.

I love you, James Barnes," Clint said. "I swear we will make it work."

"I know we will," James agreed. "I'll not lose you again."

~~*~~

The day before Stevie's wedding dawned clear and bright, not a cloud in the dawn sky. With all preparations done and nothing left to do except wait until late afternoon when James would "kidnap" Stevie and take him to the gambling hells in Marsden for one last 'night on the town', James strolled through the newly manicured garden, marveling at the turn of events and enjoying a moment's respite from the chaos. 

Stevie was getting married. And to a dashing Lieutenant no less! James sighed aloud, but lifted his face to the sky, his eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips. Change was an absolute and soon enough, the changes would be momentous, with Stevie living in London, so far from their village. Soon after Rebecca would leave as well. First taking a honeymoon on the continent and then establishing a house in London and aiding her husband's growing import business. Then there was Clint. Clint whose smile settled back in James' heart easily, proving that he'd never given James his heart back when he left all those years ago. They were courting, but Clint's life was in a traveling circus.

His heart twisted, but he huffed at his own foolishness. He was staying in Harrogate because he had always wished to, not because he was being left behind. Wanderlust had never been his failing, that was Rebecca's and soon enough her husband would have the privilege of living with it. James grinned as the rays of the sun hit his face.

With a smirk, he decided to go for a ride.

~~*~~

"Hey, Buck!" Steve's voice barely reached James' perch. Grinning, he leaned back and tilted his head up, unsurprised Stevie had found him.

"There you are!" Steve puffed at him as he scrambled up and over to join James.

"Where else would I be?" James replied, voice dry as he raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Should you have come all this way by yourself?" he asked, trying hard not to sound overly concerned even if the bright flush on Steve's cheeks did worry him. "Where is that rascal you are engaged to?" he asked. "I swear to all that is holy, you need a better keeper--"

"I am right here, Barnes," Samuel said from directly behind James.

James glanced up and manfully did not stick his tongue out at Lieutenant Wilson. "Well, you need to watch over Steve better than this. He's damnably close to fainting."

"We both know nothing on heaven or earth is going to dissuade Steve from his chosen path," Samuel replied. "And since _you_ felt the need to be up here, _we_ had to follow." He crossed his arms over his chest, white shirt and open vest ruffling in the slight breeze. He was not one bit winded from the climb, but poor Steve was still breathing heavily at James' side.

"He is right here," Steve said once he had gained enough breath to speak.

James turned an unimpressed gaze on his best friend. "And just why did you feel it necessary to follow me?"

"I," Steve hesitated.

"What is it?" James asked, eyes darting between Steve and Samuel who was sitting beside Steve. "Do not tell me you are throwing Samuel over for Natasha!" he jested. Stevie had insisted on riding out to the caravan with James when he went to retrieve his boots. And Natasha had left him tongue-tied and stumbling over every other word. It almost seemed as if she did it intentionally, just to watch Steve's face grow brighter and brighter by the moment.

"Hey!" Steve protested even as James began to laugh.

At his side, Samuel snorted. "I do not think Natasha, for all her beauty, which I heard much of, is Stevie's type." Samuel set his arm over Stevie's shoulders, the possessive weight visibly grounding him.

With a sharp poke of his elbow to Steve's ribs, James said, "If you are not throwing over Samuel for Natasha, then why are you here?" He leaned forward to spear Samuel with his gaze. "And why are you in each other's company? Is it not bad luck for you to be seen together at this point?"

It was Steve's turn to snort. "Nothing of that is remotely true," he said. "What happened to James Barnes - learned man of science?"

"He's an idiot felled by love, just like the rest of us," Samuel answered.

"Steve," James said, impatience seeping into his tone.

"What?" he replied, gaze going sharp. "Very well," he huffed. "I worry about you," he admitted.

"What cause do you have to worry for me?" James was truly baffled by the statement.

"Clint Barton," Samuel interjected.

James pointed a finger at him. "You leave Clint out of this."

"I can, but I will not," he said, undeterred. "Since Steve seems to care about you, then I must as well. If for no other reason than to save my fiancé the trouble that you inevitably cause."

"I cause?" James gaped at Samuel and then turned to glare at Steve. "How is it that you have everyone convinced that you are a sweet angel?"

Steve grinned. "Because I am."

James snorted. "Just tell me why you are here and stop beating around the bush. I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you."

Steve swallowed. "It is, I mean, well, what I--"

"What he is trying to say," Samuel spoke up, interrupting Steve, "is that he worries that Clint will leave and take your heart once again."

"It is not out of the realm of the possible!" Steve added.

"Oh, he will be leaving, of that I am certain," James said.

"But how are you smiling?"

James' eyes unfocused as he remembered the whispered assurances Clint had breathed into his ear just the night before.

"James?" Samuel asked, pulling James out of his reverie.

"Forgive me," he said, smile wide. "But Clint and I have an agreement."

"An agreement," Stevie said, voice suspicious and spine rigid.

"Aye," James said. "His work and family are integral to who he is, but Laura is heavy with child and Barney wants him to come home," he explained. "I will not add to his burdens by making more demands on him."

"So what has he agreed?" Steve asked, still wary.

"That the company will overwinter here in Harrogate and then I will meet him on occasion."

"On occasion?"

"Aye, Stevie. 'Tis no different than you when your Lieutenant here must be abroad," James answered. "You would not demand he quit his commission would you?"

"Nay!"

"As I would not ask that of Clint." James nodded, sure the issue was settled.

But Samuel had other ideas. "If Stevie asked it of me, I would do it," he vowed.

"Oh," Steve breathed out, turning like a sunflower to the sun, gazed fixed on Samuel.

James rolled his eyes. "And Rachel teases me!"

"I have been to the continent and to Africa and I would be most content to settle here in Harrogate," Samuel said.

James huffed out a laugh around the lump in his throat. He was going to miss these idiots. "That is because you are dumber than a box of rocks, Wilson."

"Hey now!" Steve objected.

"I rest my case, Stevie," James said, grin fully in force. "Anyone willing to put up with you for the rest of his life has to be more than a bit daft."

Steve elbowed him. "Ouch! Watch those elbows! They're awfully pointy!"

"You apologize right this instant."

Steve was starting on a full head of steam and that was the last thing he needed the morning before his nuptials. "All right, all right!" James raised his hands in surrender, then settled his eyes on Samuel. "I apologize, Lieutenant, for calling you names."

"You are an ass!" Steve said.

"Yes, yes, I am, but you are stuck with me," James replied.

"I love how you take credit for Lord Barnes' generosity."

James grinned. "I am the favorite son, of course they will take in my friend!" He snickered. "Or kick him out if he does not behave."

"You are the only son!" Steve pointed a finger at James. "And your mom would no more put me out on the streets than she would Rachel!"

And again Samuel had to butt his nose in, proving that he was the perfect mate for Steve. "I am quite certain she'd put you out before she'd put Stevie out."

James laughed. "Sadly I think you are right," he said. "Stevie has them all fooled, making them believe he is an innocent," he chuckled. "It is those big blue eyes of his."

Samuel kissed Steve on the cheek. "He is an angel," he said. "And soon he will be _my_ angel." 

"Ugh!" James made a face. "It will be good to be rid of the two of you! Such cloying sweetness! I am veritably swimming in treacle!"

Steve elbowed him again. "You will miss us! You know you will!"

"Aye, Stevie, I will," he admitted, but he was smiling.

~~*~~

The day of Steve's wedding dawned clear and bright, as beautiful as the day prior, but James was in no shape to greet the day. He groaned and burrowed under his pillows when Rebecca burst into his room and threw open his curtains.

"Up, James!" she said, voice shrill and piercing.

"Be gone, you vile beast!" he swore, voice raw and head pounding. Maybe it had been ill-advised to invite Clint and Natasha and the other circus performers to join them last night. James had never seen anyone who could hold their drink like the tiny aerialist. And Otto even out drank Thor, all while Loki glared at Clint the entire night. That had been most rewarding. All in all, it had been a wholly successful evening even if James was paying the price now.

"Whyever for?" she asked, saccharine tone like spikes driven into his temple.

"Go away," he muttered.

But then his harpy of a twin tore the covers off his bed all the while cackling with glee.

"Becca!" he shouted, whined in reality.

"This is my revenge!"

"For what?" he whimpered.

"For not inviting me!"

James sat up and blinked in the bright light before having to close his eyes as the room swam around him. "You wanted to attend?" he asked. "'Twas not a place for a lady," he said.

"But Clint's friend, Natasha, was there!" she said and he didn't have to open his eyes to see her pout. "And there were others!"

James gave up and wrenched his covers out of Rebecca's hands. "I apologize," he said. "But I swear to you I never thought you'd countenance being seen in such a place!" He wrapped the blankets tightly about himself and curled up in a ball, head burrowing under the pillows.

Rebecca sat beside him and patted his back. "I know 'twas not a place I should go, but I fear I shall now never get the chance!"

James sagged and peeked out at her from under the pillows. "If I promise to take you, will you _please_ let me sleep?"

She gave him her sweetest smile, which he well knew only masked the most devious mind in all of the countryside. "Aye, dear brother," she said. "Though I do not think there are enough hours for you to sleep to not look like something the cat dragged in from the barn."

He did the mature thing and stuck his tongue out at her.

Patting his cheek, she said, "I will make sure Rachel leaves you be until lunch."

"I would be most grateful," he grated out, wondering what he was letting himself in for.

~~*~~

Even though Rebecca kept her word and Rachel left him be, their mother gave him no such respite. And Winnifred Barnes was not to be denied, no matter how James whined or begged. So he made his wobbly appearance at breakfast alongside a rather pale Steve, both Rebecca and Rachel snickering at their plight.

And before he was ready for it, he found himself alone with Steve sitting in his attic room and trying to talk him down from a panic attack. He allowed Steve to pace and rant and rave until he stood and intercepted him. "Sit," he commanded, pointing at the dressing table.

"But--"

"Nay," he said, "you are marrying the love of your life in a short while and you will be still and hear me out."

Steve opened his mouth to argue because telling him to do something always resulted in him doing the opposite.

James pointed a finger at him. "Shhhh."

Miraculously, Steve closed his mouth and sat, surprisingly meek.

"I will never repeat these words upon pain of death, but you are a lucky man, Stevie. You are going to walk down that aisle to stand next to Lieutenant Samuel Wilson who loves you beyond all reason. You will say your vows and, knowing you, probably shed a few tears, and then you will be ridiculously happy."

"I--"

"You know I am right, so why the sudden attack?"

Steve leapt up and wrapped his arms around James, squeezing tightly. "We have not been separated since we were boys!" he said, words muffled into James' vest. "London is so very far away!" he cried out. "Whatever will I do without you?"

James patted his back awkwardly and had to swallow the lump in his own throat, blinking the sting out of his eyes before he pulled Steve away. Looking in his best friend's eyes, he gave him a crooked smile. "Silly, I will visit you often and the train runs both ways. This is your home and always will be."

Steve sniffed, but nodded.

"Besides, once you are sleeping beside Samuel, you will forget this bed and drafty room."

The chuckle he gave James was a bit wet. "Aye, I will not miss having to race down the stairs to crawl into bed with you!"

"And I'll not miss you pressing your cold toes to my shins!"

There was a single tear slipping down Steve's cheek that James swiped away. "I promise that I will be on the first train to London if you have need of me," he vowed.

"Thank you," Steve said, voice small. "For everything."

"Stop. Just get yourself married so that we can get rid of all of these houseguests!"

"Ass!" Steve smiled at him.

"Guilty as charged," James grinned back.

~~*~~

With Steve settled and the ladies taking over the final touches on his morning suit, James was free to greet the arriving guests. They'd tried to keep Stevie's vows small and intimate, with just a few friends and family in attendance, but Steve was more popular than he imagined. And he was quite the hit with the circus performers, so requested that they make room for an additional four because, of course, Winnifred would deny Steve nothing on his wedding day.

That meant a large carriage arrived with Otto, Wanda, and Ibrahim tumbling out in a loud tumult of laughter and teasing insults. Clint arrived with Natasha on his arm, making James nearly swallow his tongue as he alit from the carriage with a grace and confidence that James did not at first glance recognize. But then he turned to lean into Natasha and the little smile he gave her as he met's James' eyes was all teenaged Clint. His gangly teenaged self was still there, just now contained in a well-muscled package with devastating smirks and sparkling eyes. His formal coat was dark, with the barest hints of a royal purple thread running through the cloth, his vest that same dark purple with gold, all over black trousers, cut to perfection, clearly custom made by the fit and the way it matched Natasha's dress perfectly and the way they hugged Clint's legs.

And James was staring.

It took James more than a few moments to regain his composure before he stepped up and greeted the guests. He wanted nothing more than to sweep Clint off his feet, whisk him away from prying eyes and kiss the daylights out of him. From the heated look Clint was giving him, he thought Clint might feel the same and preened, just a bit, in his own formal wear.

Offering Wanda his arm, James led them through the house and out the back to the garden which was bedecked with flowers set before the gateway arch covered in wisteria. Clint whistled softly.

"It is beautiful!" Wanda exclaimed.

"I understand why both weddings are here and so close together," Natasha commented.

"Aye, everything is the right color, with the perfect amount of blossoms to greenery," he said, making Clint give him a quizzical look. "At least that is what Rebecca has said."

Clint snorted, but didn't say anything aloud. He did stand next to James while the ladies were seated and used the moment to press a daring kiss to James' lips before he took his own seat.

James was struck still, gaping like a floundering fish with his finger touching his lips before Rebecca's voice dragged him back to reality.

He caught Clint's eye as he turned and was given a smug grin which lit him up like one of those gas lanterns in the streets of London.

~~*~~

James watched from a side door as the last of the guests were seated and then the family took their seats which meant that the string quartet began to play Chopin. That was was James' cue. He preceded Riley, Samuel's best man, down the aisle to their places where they turned to watch Samuel stride down the aisle. James had to admit he cut a dashing figure in his dress uniform, sword at his side and gap-toothed grin wide.

They shook hands and then the music swelled signalling that the guests should stand. As they did, Steve walked down the aisle, his eyes fixed on Samuel as if there were no others in the world but them.

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur. Vicar Merritt was half pickled, but he still managed to officiate a beautiful service despite swaying worse than a willow in a spring storm. James would never admit to tearing up when Steve repeated his vows, but his smile was wide and genuine as he and Riley followed the happy couple down the aisle. 

Winnifred proved once again that she was the consummate hostess with their cook, Mrs. Dunweady, outdoing herself. The tables were groaning under the bounty, with all of it dwarfed by the two-tier white wedding cake which was covered in flowers. James hoped the filling tasted as good as the outside looked. After eating there was dancing and the party continued long past when Steve and Samuel drove away in their heavily bedecked carriage.

With his duties done and Steve safely whisked away by his husband, James took advantage of the moonlight and the dancing to steal Clint away for a walk in the gardens, where they could hold hands and he could bask in Clint's smile.

"What _will_ your mother say?" Clint asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He tugged James behind a large yew hedge and kissed him. It started as a chaste brush of their lips, but James pressed harder, dove into the kiss with his whole self. When Clint moaned, a soft little whimper, it set James alight. Nothing in the world mattered except this and the man holding him tight in strong arms.

Clint ripped his mouth away with a gasp. He was panting and rumpled, lips a bit kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. "Shhhhh," he mouthed, lifting a finger to his lips as he ducked into the shadows.

Just as James was about to ask, he heard laughter and voices nearby. "Where are we going?" James recognized Wanda's voice. "What do you have?"

"Shhhhh," someone answered. Rachel. "There's a secret place in the hedge, we can hide there," she said. "None will miss us now."

They passed on the path on the other side of the hedge so close that James could smell Wanda's perfume. His eyes widened in question, but Clint shook his head with a shy smile, and then, once they were out of ear shot, he whispered against James' skin, "Let them have their fun, love," he said. "Heaven's knows, they are braver than we ever were."

James shivered at the warm breath brushing the shell of his ear and he turned, met Clint's earnest gaze. "If only we had, things would be different."

Clint shook his head, smile a bit sad. "I think it would have only made things harder on us," he said. "I would have known what you taste like and yet not been able to drink you in as I need."

James stroked his cheek. "We are together now, my heart." He said, then on an impulse, dropped to one knee. "If you would do the honor of marrying me, then we shall never be parted again."

Clint stood there one hand over his mouth the other in James'. He swallowed and then nodded, finally giving a happy shout, "Aye! Of course!"

It was almost scandalously soon after announcing their courtship, but the gardens _were_ gorgeous and everything and everyone were already in place, so they wed the week after Rebecca, nearly exhausting Lady Winnifred and Mrs. Dunweady.

After honeymooning in Paris, they had to go their separate ways while the circus was traveling. James got accustomed to being without his twin, his best friend, and the love of his life. But Lord Barnes used his melancholy to good effect and kept him so busy that the time passed swiftly and Clint was back in his arms and his marriage bed. Just where he belonged.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is in no way historically accurate. I just wanted to play with pretty boys in pretty clothes.
> 
> Fill for my WinterHawk bingo square: historical AU.


End file.
